by V. G. Lee
She storms off the shop floor, Peter hurrying in her wake. I hear her say, ‘Peter in my office. Just who employed that incompetent woman?’
In silence Noreen demonstrates polisher technique. It is hellishly difficult. Finish floor. No time to use J cloth. Totter from store at nine-o-five. Noreen and I stop at the corner and she explains, ‘We call her ‘he’, a) because she doesn’t half wear the trousers, and b) because that way she doesn’t know we’re talking about her.’
Continue tottering to TM Accountancy. Tom looks critically at me. ‘Been out on the tiles?’ he says.
‘Sort of,’ I reply.
Also wants to know why his most important client Bristow and Poulson have received a letter on TM Accountancy headed note paper complaining about elderly joy riders in Marks and Spencer. Holds letter up and points to signature: A. Oakley, Accident Prevention Officer.
June 24th
‘I’ve had twins!’ Deirdre announces over Earl Grey tea taken at her breakfast bar.
‘Really?’
‘Follow me quietly and don’t look left or right. Or up.’
We creep out of kitchen into the garden, me not looking left, right or up but keeping my gaze pinned on Deirdre’s Egyptian cotton bottom. Halfway down her garden she stops and turns. I stop and turn.
‘Now look up. The extension roof.’
I see a ramshackle nest, one large seagull and two small bobbing heads.
‘If we make a noise, Mum or Dad go berserk and spatter you.’
Do not make noise.
‘I think that’s the dad on the chimney pot. What a clever boy.’
Admire gull family. Whisper, more for something to say, ‘What does Martin think?’
‘He says he’s not getting involved. He doesn’t follow nature like I do.’
‘And Lord Dudley?’
‘He’s absolutely laid back.’
June 26th
Have not really studied Lorraine Carter. No time. Keep attention glued on my floor, mop and bucket. Have already been taken to task on state of my mop head. Ms Carter asks, ‘Margaret, have you got a particular affection for that mop head? Would it break your heart to change it for a fresh one?’
Would relish answering Ms Carter back. Yes it would break my heart. Yes, I am in love with this mop head.
June 27th
Sunday. I’m exhausted. Spend much of the day in bed accompanied by Tilly. Have completed six days at Russell’s.
Yesterday received a cheque for nine hundred pounds from final settlement of Mum’s estate. Thinks; could give up cleaning job. Could go back to setting alarm clock for eight o’clock instead of six-thirty.
July
July 4th
Tilly is enjoying an Indian summer. She loves my meadow. I watch her make her way through the long grasses and waving stems of meadow buttercup with look on her little round face of absolute sensory delight. And then she flops. And rolls onto her back. And stares at me from this upside down vantage point with a mad good humour. She’s happier without Georgie's two cats. Realise now that with all their boisterous health and energy they cramped Tilly’s style. Thinks: what is Tilly’s style? Tentative and hopeful.
This afternoon went on beach. Initially thought not a good idea as being the weekend it was even more crowded than usual. Found a space on one of the dunes. Was prepared for every eventuality. Took a towel, a cushion, a sun umbrella, sun tan lotion, a sarong, sandwiches, a bottle of water and my book. Experienced profound sense of satisfaction. This has been my first summer on the beach in years. Georgie never wanted to go on the beach. Said beaches abroad had spoiled her.
I snoozed with my book open over my face, then sat up and ate my sandwiches, regretting I hadn’t made twice as many. Surveyed beach as if it were my very own domain. Family parties paddling in the shallows; the real swimmers were further out. I watched one intrepid swimmer; woman with a shocking pink bathing cap, two white rubber daisies over each ear. She had a broad swimmer’s back and cut through the water with a powerful crawl, powering between a man and a woman who were both doing a sort of sit up breast stroke while chatting to each other. They got a face-full of sea. Choked, flailed and shouted. Strong swimmer pile-drives on.
I was thinking typical, there’s always one who spoils it for everybody else when woman reached shallower water and stood up. Instantly I recognised Nic’s Simone. She hadn’t seen me. She strode out of the water. Behind her, the two engulfed swimmers were still remonstrating. Simone shouted back over her shoulder, ‘Sorry.’
Man yelled, ‘Sorry’s not good enough.’
Simone turned, hands on hips. ‘How about very sorry?’
Man looked disconcerted. His trunks were being tweaked by his woman friend. ‘Let’s leave it John,’ she said.
He said stiffly, ‘I suppose it will have to do.’
Grinning, Simone came up the beach. I realised that the small heap of clothes and beach bag lying on a rainbow striped towel about six feet away from me were hers. As she reached for her towel I said, ‘Hello Simone.’
Now she looked disconcerted. ‘Margaret. Hello.’
Dried her face and shoulders. Spread her towel out again and lay on her stomach facing me.
‘Look, what can I say?’ She tossed a small sea shell in my direction. ‘Very sorry?’
I imitated the man in the water, ‘I suppose it will have to do.’
The ice was broken.
We chatted about Nic and her garden plans; new patio, an arbour, possibly a folly if Terry, their odd job man, could put it up in time. Simone said, ‘It’s all double Dutch to me but the garden looks great. A winner.’
I didn’t ask about Georgie, although I wanted to, but as Simone got dressed she said, ‘You know Georgie and Stella won’t last. The woman’s too high maintenance. Fine to see her one week in three when it’s all fresh and lovey-dovey - another matter when it’s day in, day out. You’ll see, Georgie will come crawling back.’
‘I don’t want Georgie crawling back.’
She stared at me as if I was mad. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Georgie finding me a welcome relief because someone else is exhausting or not as great as Georgie thought she was isn’t the basis for a good relationship. I want more than that.’
‘But you’ve been together ten years - you can’t still expect love’s young dream?’
I mumbled, ‘But love has to come into it.’
‘Oh yeah, love. Different kinds though. Look at me and Nic. Nic waits on me hand and foot and treats me like a goddess. I behave like a goddess. Not to everyone’s taste but it works for us.’ Simone began to rub frosted body lotion over her shoulders which made them sparkle. ‘Fancy coming over for dinner one evening?’
‘Not if Georgie and Stella are there.’
‘They won’t be. As far as I know they’re either in Edinburgh or their house in Spain.’
‘Then I’ll come.’
July 7th
Noreen feels I’m ready to tackle lavatories. Says, ‘The GENTS won’t bite. Knock loudly when you go in. Once in prop the door open with your bucket. Okay?’
Did this. However, within minutes of propping door open with bucket Peter came along and said he was absolutely desperate. Noreen appeared and told Peter playfully that he was a naughty boy. Then told me to do the Ladies’ lavs, she’d handle the GENTS today. She went into the toilet with Peter and shut door.
There is definitely something going on between Peter and Noreen. Miriam would call it hanky-panky.
July 6th
Am inundated with tomatoes. Offer dozen to Deirdre.
She shakes her head, ‘More than my life’s worth to eat a fresh tomato.’
Ask Why?
‘They’re just so...exposed.’
Mr Wheeler accepts a bag of them. ‘But that’s your lot Margaret,’ he says as if I’m trying to palm off stolen goods.
July 8th
Much ado about Miriam, but first, a first. This morning I cleaned the GENTS urinals. Will enter o
n my CV.
A two-fold story of Miriam. One o’clock Miriam arrives in dreadful fury carrying a packet of twenty Benson and Hedges and a lighter. Both Tom and I try to persuade her to part with cigarettes. Tom beside himself.
‘Miriam, I forbid you to smoke,’ he thunders, which is wrong tack to take. Miriam adopts equally thunderous stance, juts chin forward, eyes flash, shoulders back. ‘Then I throw in my job,’ she bellows.
Tom appeals to me as the voice of reason.
I say, ‘Miriam, you’ve done so well not smoking for so many months...’
‘What is left to me?’ she shouts at the ceiling.
Which is a hard question to answer. Flounder around but Tom is inspired, he says, ‘Miriam we love you,’ and puts his arms around her. ‘Come on Margaret, group hug for Miriam.’
Manage tepid hug as find Miriam on occasion bracing rather than huggable. However, group hug does the trick and we lower Miriam into her swivel chair. Tom says, as if talking to a young and armed first offender, ‘May I take the cigarettes?’
Miriam snuffles, ‘All right.’
Tom takes cigarettes, says, ‘Phew, thought we’d lost you there.’
Which seemed a little over the top. Not as though Miriam was about to jump out of a sixth floor window. Tom sits down in my chair and I try to find a place to sit on top of the filing cabinet but this impossible without the aid of a step ladder so lean against the filing cabinet. NB. Later find I have bruised my shoulder from constant contact with metal cabinet.
Miriam explains that her mother is going out with Mrs Ferguson. Not in any romantic sense but, unbeknownst to Miriam, they have become close friends with a mutual interest in shopping.
‘Tea and biscuits all round might be a good idea,’ Tom tells me, while Miriam is blowing her nose.
Apparently Mrs Ferguson called at their flat some weeks ago to see if Miriam would reconsider working at the Hospice Shop. Miriam out but mother in. Over sherry and Bombay Mix they’d discussed the lack of attractive clothes for older women.
‘What do they want attractive clothes for? Who even notices they’re alive?’ Miriam appeals to us. Tom jerks his head - a movement somewhere between a shake and a nod while I demur.
‘I thought you’d demur,’ Miriam says accusingly.
The previous evening, Miriam had arrived home to find her mother kneeling on the carpet, her mouth full of dressmaker pins as she took up the hem of Mrs Ferguson’s ‘A’ line skirt.
‘But surely this is a good thing Miriam?’ I say. ‘It gives you an opportunity to get out more and make a life for yourself.’
Miriam’s brow lowering. Tom says, ‘I think you’re missing the point here, Margaret...’
Miriam talking to me as if I’m a five-year-old says, ‘I may want to get out more and make a life of my own but I don’t want to be forced into it, you... you dumb cluck.’
Enter another first on CV. Have never been called a dumb cluck before.
Second fold of ‘two-fold’ Miriam story. About seven o’clock this evening realised that I needed tins of cat food. Tilly, although slight cat, eats more and more, which Deirdre says is a sign of Tilly’s worsening physical condition and I choose to see as a sign that Tilly is holding her own.
As I was going into the supermarket spotted woman coming out, head completely hidden by the gigantic mixed bunch of flowers she carried. It was Miriam. Recognised her immediately by the particular type of orthopaedic shoes she wears and the fact she treble knots her laces, which I’m sure is a sign of something significant.
‘Hello Miriam,’ I said. ‘Feeling any better?’
Miriam’s face wearing embarrassed expression appeared above the flowers. ‘Much better.’
‘Flowers for your mum?’
‘Er yes. Er no.’
‘So they’re not for your mum?’
‘Is this some kind of interrogation?’
‘Sorry. None of my business.’
‘Exactly.’ But then she absolutely beamed at me. ‘It’s funny how life can turn on a sixpence, isn’t it?’
Agreed it was and we parted; Miriam walking with the proverbial spring in her step, me mystified.
July 9th
Wake up for once not thinking of Georgie. Instead thinking it’s several weeks since I’ve heard from Janice. Wonder whether to telephone. Did she see our relationship as purely professional or bordering on friendship? Now I’m on my own I realise I’ve lost all knowledge of where boundaries begin and end, what a lone woman can and can’t do. Wouldn’t want Janice to imagine I’m attracted to her and be horrified.
A card depicting the Highlands, with two highland cattle in forefront of photograph looking stoical, from Georgie. Try to see cattle as representation of Georgie and Stella but can’t help instead firmly believing that I’m looking at the bovine version of Miriam and myself.
Georgie asks if I could send on the brass fire iron set if I’m not using it. Says if I’m agreeable to request she will forward p & p. Waste ten minutes of my life mulling over how, when Georgie and I first got together, we used to toast crumpets and buns with the toasting fork appendage. How delicious we imagined the crumpets and buns tasted, even the burnt bits. This at least eight years ago.
Am not using fire iron set. In fact they were rarely used. Consider what sort of fire Stella and Georgie must have, to feel the need for them. See an enormous walk-in fireplace, capacious leather armchairs on each side. Carry set into kitchen. Feel obliged to dust them but draw the line at applying Brasso. Send them off with a postcard of Bittlesea Bay under extreme weather conditions. Write Don’t bother with p & p. Take care. Margaret.
Nic rang cock-a-hoop as if there hadn’t been any awkwardness between us for the last few months.
Margaret is that you?’ she bellowed down the telephone. ‘Guess what? I’ve won it. The Golden Trowel is mine! Well deserved I might say. Seen the competition and frankly some of those gardens were non-starters. How’s your patch? Coming along nicely? Plenty of birds and bees?’
Some time later asked me to a celebratory barbecue, would also ask Laura as she was ‘a tonic’.
July 10th
Laura telephoned to say she’s agreed to celebratory barbecue at Nic and Simone’s but hoped Nic wasn’t going to drone on about gardening all evening. Asked if she could stay over as she intended to drink as much as her stomach would hold. Says she’s in two minds whether to bring Iris.
Go to Deirdre and Martin’s for the evening. They are taking me through the Star Wars Trilogy so I’m prepared for something called Revenge of the Sith which comes out next year. Deirdre orders three large pizzas because nobody is willing to share. Film for the evening Episode V1, Return of the Jedi.
I ask, ‘How can it be a trilogy when we’re already up to number six?’
Deirdre says, ‘That would take too long to answer - Lord Dudley wants to sit on your lap.’
‘Lord Dudley wants a piece of my pizza.’
‘Lord Dudley wants the gas fire on.’
‘In July?’
‘Lord Dudley likes the fire on all year round. Sorry about the film, this isn’t one of the best.’ Deirdre looks enviously at Martin’s pepperoni pizza as does Lord Dudley.
Martin explodes. ‘Could you all be quiet?’ he barks, as if addressing an assembly of at least twelve instead of two women and a silent furry cat. ‘Just because the film’s a third-rater doesn’t mean I want to listen to you lot rabbiting away over complete bloody trivia.’
(Martin’s bark far worse than his bite. He gets up and switches the gas fire on for Lord Dudley, slaps a slice of his pepperoni pizza on Deirdre’s empty plate.)
‘Thank you darling,’ she says. He winces.
I am quite impressed with the Star Wars films I’ve seen round Deirdre and Martin’s. Although still confused by the storylines find myself becoming a Star Wars aficionado decades after everyone else, with a yearning to become a Jedi knight. Walk taller as I leave their house and try to adopt a noble expression.
July 11th
Ask Mr Wheeler if he’s ever seen a Star Wars film? He says no. Not his cup of tea. Tell him a little of what I’ve gleaned re. Jedi knights. He says, ‘Hmmm, not dissimilar to the knights of old but better equipped.’ Decide Mr Wheeler has some of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s gravitas and wisdom.
Mr Wheeler asks if I’ve thought any more about taking up the mantle of a Wheeler’s Watch person. Adds that such a person is also not so far removed from a Jedi knight. Recognise I have walked into a trap of my own making. Say I’m very tired. Mr Wheeler says the fresh air would do me good. Seeing my un-Jedi-like expression Mr Wheeler says, ‘Well please yourself.’ He looks disappointed and old which is a ploy because, as I say ungraciously, ‘Oh very well,’ he straightens up and beams at me. Says, ‘Good girl, Margaret.’
Stomp off home considering whether it is patronizing of Mr Wheeler to call me a ‘good girl’ or whether I should be pleased, as inside I sometimes still feel at least like a girl if not necessarily a good one.
July 15th
Tom has tried to tell me something he considers important three times now. Today about eleven when I took his tea into his office and placed it on his Woodpeckers of the Western Hemispheres coaster, noticed that on stepping into the room, a) Tom began frantically doodling on his note pad and b) his ears turned from white to red.
‘Thank you Margaret,’ he said without looking up from his doodle. NB. nothing special about doodle; square flower pot with rudimentary tulips. I returned to my desk and my own tea. I don’t have a coaster I have a blue plastic lid for cat food tins. Within minutes Tom sauntered out of his office carrying his cup, saucer and coaster and sat down in Miriam’s chair.